Visenya's eyes scanned through the fields of flowers and other flora alike, which had more oft than not a person milling about whichever way she looked. It was unlike the Godswood on account of the far too many people present, the differing plants, the lack of a Weirwood, and the water's scent.

There even seemed a much livelier set of pests as well, from the mean, yellow-coloured bees that loved to sting to the sweeter, honey-making ones and the birds that swept down to eat them. A much more prevalent breeze was felt too, given the lower-walls and many spaces one might sit to look thereat — that breeze brought with it the very same scent of the water and stench of the city she had grown accustomed to, yet, in the gardens, it was almost pleasant.

Flowers could only do so much to cover the Southron filth that littered the streets and polluted the tributary body of waters near to King's Landing.

She wrinkled her nose as Aegon and Rhaenys spoke to one another, their voices a… pleasant backdrop as she continued to take in much and more, the bulk of which was unpleasant.

Like the stares of any who saw her, or the way their eyes drank in her figure before they narrowed at Aegon who had her in-hand. It seemed a great many menfolk held him in contempt on account of his current position betwixt Rhaenys and herself. The realisation of what they likely assumed made a dusting of red come to her cheeks, and despite how foolish it was, especially with so many eyes upon them, she tried to shift away from her brother and sister.

It wouldn't do if such rumours freely spread amongst the nobles present.

Yet Aegon didn't allow her to pull away. His arm remained looped around her own, and he cast a look down at her, his usually charming smile replaced with a queer gaze. One that very clearly demonstrated a lack of understanding. "Senya?"

It was a simple enough query; he wished to know why she made to move away.

Rhaenys did too, given by the way she peeked out around their brother's front to gaze upon her little sister. Those eyes of hers, like always, seemed downright mystified even still, after the near moon that it'd been.

Mayhaps she'd never grow accustomed to Visenya's presence until she was a woman, grown and wed…

Aegon's hand waving before her eyes drew her attention back from idle thoughts, and to his face; it seemed closer now, and the buzz of insects as well as the stares from those around them were forgotten as she gazed at him.

"My apologies, brother, sister," She gave a dip of her head in deference, her violet eyes breaking away from either sibling on account of too intense a stare.

There was too much therein, be it Rhaenys or Aegon, for her to wish to unravel.

"For what?" Aegon asked with a laugh, his hold tightening and pulling her closer; more so than a brother and sister should be.

Rhaenys' tutting came before an answer could be formulated by Visenya. "Our Senya does so enjoy apologising, even when she needn't do so. Isn't that right, Sister?"

Her cheeks grew warmer under the watchful eyes of both, and thankfully, Aegon saw them turn to the left, far and away from where the bulk of foot-traffic seemed to be. The many tall flowers, trees and neatly-trimmed hedges served to aid them in avoiding that same attention.

"I— There's no true way to answer your question." If Visenya apologised again, she would look a fool… but so too would she look a fool if she admitted she'd heard Rhaenys' words about not apologising, and yet, still did as she did.

The Targaryens seemed so very different from how she thought they'd be, and whilst a poisonous part said it was all a ploy, another part thought them genuinely kind. If that were true, mayhaps she needn't worry about being as demure, submissive and agreeable as she'd been thus far.

Surely by now, the Starks were safe enough. She could be more like Marna. More like herself. The Gods wouldn't force her to hide her true self for years upon years — the Old Gods weren't so cruel.

"Our sister's too cute, wouldn't you say, Aegon?" Rhaenys wore a teasing smirk, and she extended a hand to prod her flank around Aegon's back. As Visenya squirmed, unable to get away on account of Aegon's arm keeping her close, an opening in the hedges made itself visible; there was a wooden, vine-wrapped archway with flowers that bloomed all across it.

The place seemed more private than most any other in the gardens, and birdsong as well as the floral scents that enshrouded them seemed especially prevalent.

"I would." Aegon's voice was gruffer than normal, and his hold seemed to tighten. He cleared his throat, and as he did so, Visenya noticed Rhaenys and him share a quick look — the scantest of glances, yet still, he cleared his throat and seemed to loosen that very same hold. His next words were then said in that normal, charming and smooth sounding voice he most oft had about him. "It would appear we've reached the spot we'll take our meal, sweet sister. It has the greatest view in all of the gardens."

"One which she makes all the better." Rhaenys took her arm from Aegon, and swept away from him, gesturing to the cloth-covered table that lay betwixt two large beds of multi-coloured flowers. "I wish we'd had this set to portrait. She appears as the Goddess of Lys."

Aegon coughed, the sound abrupt and pointed.

As he did so, Rhaenys moved to the seat on the left of the table whilst he led Visenya to the middle space. "Here, sister—" He pulled out the pillow-covered chair, and then looked over his shoulder, speaking as he did so; but not to her. "—Ser Jaime, Ser Loras, Ser Jonothor, see the men set to patrol, you three more than suffice as watchmen."

"As you command, Prince Aegon." Ser Jonothor was the sole Kingsguard to respond as Ser Loras and Ser Jaime fell away, immediately taking up posts by the sole opening with nary a word spoken. As for the aforementioned Ser Jonothor, he stood but a couple of paces back, near enough to respond to any threat that should appear, but far enough away to give them a sense of 'privacy' if any such thing existed in the South.

"Go on, Visenya, our brother doesn't bite," Rhaenys urged her forth, her head resting atop a hand as she looked on with a grin. There was something inherently devi—

"Rhaenys is the bit—" Aegon stopped sans warning then, a noise from the table which they were sitting at sounding off suddenly and loudly, so much so that it made Visenya nearly leap out of her skin. There was a quick look he and Rhaenys shared, one in which her eyes were narrowed and dangerous, and most certainly filled with meaning… whilst Aegon wore a look of sheepishness. "I jest, but surely you know as much — tell me, sister. I hear tell you've experience with a bow and… blade. Would you fancy a spar in the yard?"

He'd very suddenly changed course from a 'jest' she'd most certainly taken note of, to a question of her abilities. Mayhaps he thought to gauge her, to see if she were as her namesake, or more so like Rhaenys'.

Visenya, instilled with a rare confidence, stood taller. Her gaze was set on Aegon, and she kept her eyes level with his. With that same demure expression she'd mastered early-on in the company of the Targaryens still in-place, she gave answer to his question. "My nuncle was very kind, and saw to it that I was trained just as an heir might be — I had lessons with a blade and bow nearly every day in the morn and eve, and my Maestor's lessons midday to allow me a break. I favour a pair of daggers more so than any sword… I'm too slight of build as of yet to properly wield one."

Well, save for the one Father gave me. Made from Northern steel by a Northern blademaster, and gifted by a man she still thought her father, it was like she had a small piece of home with her. One that'd last in perpetuity.

The thought brought her mind back to Rickon, her baby brother. Her mind began to turn sour, and angry at the thought of him alone, or worse, preyed upon by the vultures of the South. She would need prot—

"A pair of daggers?" Rhaenys sounded part scandalised, part fascinated. "When last you spoke of a spar, I thought you'd use an axe or sword."

Aegon', however, reacted queerer still; even beyond that of Rhaenys. That small smile that made so many a noblewoman swoon had been replaced by a dashing, boyish grin that showcased dimples that'd have been cute on anybody else. He seemed very, very excited.

He stepped towards her then. "Truly? Two daggers? No shield or singular sword?" Aegon stepped closer still, and took up one hand. He looked over the hand as he pulled her forth, seemingly looking for proof that her words were the truth. In no time at all, he saw her seated betwixt him and Rhaenys, and as he aided her into said seat, he spoke again. "Twice a day you'd said, Gods… wait, but what of your lessons with a Septa? I'd heard the Starks had one."

"A bitch. I'd had the unfortunate chance of sharing a hall with her when we went to retrieve our sister," Rhaenys' words were said as she grabbed up one of Visenya's hands and interlaced their fingers. When she saw the look of Visenya and Aegon both, she let out a giggle, and raised her free hand to her mouth. She gave the pair a look of mock pleading next. "Oh please don't tell Mother and Father I cursed."

"She can be serious, I swear it," Aegon didn't acknowledge Rhaenys' words, but rather, he addressed Visenya. "My question was as well. What of your lessons with a Septa or… well, a Lady, if not a Septa?"

Visenya felt the amusement at Rhaenys' behaviour wash away when Aegon asked his question again. Trepidation and a sinking feeling came forth, and quick as one might blink their eye, all of a sudden, she was back at Winterfell. Marna was tucked away in an alcove, dark and dank, overhearing Father argue with Lady Catelyn about her inclusion in said lessons with a Septa; she'd never hated her, but including a bastard would reflect poorly on Sansa.

She had spoken with Fa— no, Lord Stark… yes, he wasn't Father anymore — she'd pleaded with him to allow such lessons to be forgotten lest more issues on account of her presence rise up, and with a sadness she'd seldom seen in him, he had agreed. Time with Maester Lewyn, Ser Rodrik, Lord Stark, and Old Nan had been all she needed.

"Sister?" Rhaenys was suddenly closer now, and sans any look of teasing, which was a rarity given her aloof, affectionate and teasing nature. As for her eyes, when violet met violet, Rhaenys' were full-up with worry, and there seemed a lingering sense of affection, genuine and true.

It brought her back to Robb and Arya. It was only they who were truly close to her. The others were too young, or in the case of Sansa, too much like her Lady Mother.

Visenya did her best to school her features lest her sadness or uncertainty show, and quash the rising negative memories, and all the feelings that came of them. "You have to excuse me… the sight is too marvellous," She attempted to gush as Sansa so oft did, and made a half-hearted gesture towards the flower-framed view of the water below. It stretched into the horizon just as it did from the balcony of her chambers.

There was a quick exchange betwixt her siblings, one she noticed for nary half a second, and then Aegon spoke. Thankfully, he left alone her lack of an answer, and carried on with where she'd steered their conversation.

"Water, flowers and the fishmongers below," Aegon sounded unimpressed, and the wave of his hand in the direction she'd gestured conveyed much the same. "I much prefer the sight of my two lovely sisters."

Rhaenys leaned across Visenya, 'accidentally' brushing against the smaller girl as she slapped at Aegon's chest. When the two made contact, there was a lingering quality to Rhaenys' touch, and a shift in Aegon; he all but leaned into the contact she initiated. Even Rhaenys' tone had a different quality. "You tease our little sister, baby brother?"

"You wound me. I tease neither her nor you," Aegon shifted, walking around from where he'd been until he was betwixt the pair of them, occupying the space to Visenya's left. Once there, he brought up a hand towards each, and moved their hair so as to gaze upon each without their errant strands of hair blocking his view. "As the only one able to look at the pair of you, I can say 'tis I with the greatest view."

Visenya looked down with an odd mixture of feelings rising in her chest, while Rhaenys let out a little coo, and moved a smidge closer to him. She whispered something then, and try as Visenya might to hear it, she couldn't.

For the food had arrived… Visenya thanked the Old Gods for that. Aegon's comment had made her feel strange, as had his hand upon her hair and the closeness of his person to hers.

As the servants placed food and drink, and offered further service by way of entertainment, Visenya looked between her siblings. Each had made to sit as close to her as possible — far closer than they'd initially been — and neither gave her a shortage of attention even despite the presence of so many others.

That sinking in her stomach rose up as one thought went through her mind; Targaryen or Stark, she'd not be the Visenya she was beginning to think they desired.

"Won't you eat, Sister?" Rhaenys' words made her halt her thoughts.

"The lemon cakes are of particularly good quality. Mother had all the best ordered for the next moon now that you're here, and we've never been left wanting by our chefs," Aegon grabbed up one of the aforementioned treats, and popped one — whole — in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed with the speed only a ravenous man could make… and next, he held one out towards her.

But Visenya's appetite was gone as her thoughts turned her stomach sour.

So she politely declined with a small, demure smile on her face; there was… much, entirely too much, to think about in the coming days, and still, evidently, a myriad of adjustments to be made.

Yet time, she had not, for a meal with the Lannisters, and another with the Tyrells, and more time with the courtiers all before the tourney, had been 'asked' of her; and to think think she still need make time for her baby brother, her light in a city of darkness.

Rickon wouldn't be alone, nor would she.

Visenya peered at her reflection in the looking glass, and let a frown mar her features when she saw the girl peering back at her.

This was 'Visenya' — the name they gave her, or the name they claimed her mother had given her. Gone was her dark hair, her Stark hair, and in-place was that of a Targaryen, like Rhaegar or Aegon.

Even her manner of dress was wholly different. Thin fabrics, light and fair-coloured as the flowers in the fields that littered the countryside. Yet, she was used to furs, thick and warm and comfortable as Father's embrace had been, rare as such instances came about.

The thought of the last she'd been given brought a smile to her, one that grew when memories came to life of Arya and Robb… gods, how she missed them. Her dearest cousins, those who had loved her when she was nought but Marna, a bastard half-sister.

She wondered if they still loved this 'Visenya Targaryen' as she was claimed to be. A sinister thought, if ever she'd had one in her time spent at King's Landing. Another came not long after; when next they saw her in Targaryen finery and in the company of House Targaryen, would they still call her sister?

Or would it be 'Princess', as if Marna was but a memory of another life, already dead, buried and forgotten?

She was roused from such sour thoughts by way of an announcement at her chamber door, the voice belonging to Ser Jaime. "Princess Rhaenys, and Princess Daenerys wish to enter."

Visenya pulled at the strings of her gown. They were knotted many times over, so that nary a view of the valley her breasts made could be glimpsed. It wasn't how they were meant to be worn, and many would call it an affront to Southron fashion, but she cared not. Her comfort mattered more to her than appealing to any would-be suitors; many would want for her name and blood.

"Send them in, Ser." Her answer came as she finally stepped away from the looking glass, and lowered the hand that'd been at her neckline.

Her chamber door opened not a second later, scraping the rug she'd moved nearer thereto as it did so. Rhaenys swept in first, and with a speed that saw her to Visenya faster than one bird's song could be sung.

As her arms wrapped up Visenya's smaller form, and pulled her closed as could be, Daenerys reached the wine that was but a few steps away from the sisterly embrace.

"You look like a Lysene doll, sweet sister." Rhaenys combed her fingers through Visenya's long, flowing hair as she spoke such words.

"You never could keep your hands off yours," Daenerys' quip came as she took the few steps required to pull Visenya from Rhaenys' embrace, and into one of her own. It was only partial, however, for one hand held aloft a cup of wine. "Fortunately for me, you always did share."

"Father always claimed I would need share much and more." Rhaenys took up Visenya's free side, and each hand sought out the strings of her dress. With a dexterity that was both alarming and impressive, it was loosened to such a state that nearly a third of her breasts were visible.

"Rhaen—" Daenerys' words were cut off by Visenya.

She stepped away, pushed Rhaenys' hand down, and brought her hands back to the strings; one sought them out, the other hid her breasts. "Do you know how long that took me to tie?"

"I… you have my apologies. I only wished to see you in the dress as it was meant to be worn. If I caused you to take offence, know it wasn't what I meant to do," Rhaenys bit her lower lip, and clasped her hands tightly before her. She remained where she'd been when Visenya had taken her step away.

"Mayhaps you could make it up to our 'Senya by doing as she'd done—" Daenerys scrunched up her nose at her own pause, her eyes doing much the same. It made her look far cuter than Visenya thought she herself would ever appear. "— though, I should think your knot should be a touch more fas— ornate."

Visenya prodded Daenerys in the side just as she'd do to Arya when the girl acted particularly bratty. "You think my knots barbaric, sister?" She would let Rhaenys' apology hang, for she was not pleased with her; the Princess had been so familiar since first they met, and still, after so long, it continued.

Elia's words of warning said back in the carriage rang in her ears; Rhaenys is possessive.

"Not barbaric, only hastily tied and efficient," Daenerys returned Visenya's prodding, initially catching her off-guard given her thinking — that didn't remain for very long. Visenya had long since grown used to flicking away the hands of others thanks to her siblings up North.

The pair giggled as they jostled one another, and when finally they halted, content and catching their breath, Rhaenys stepped forward. She wore a look of the most demure quality; Visenya had never seen so submissive a side from the Princess.

"Might I?" One hand gestured towards the opening of her gown, which now hung loosely where once it'd been tight.

Visenya's eyes sought out Daenerys for a second's time, if even that. She had on her face a visage of kindness, and assurance. It was obvious she desired that Visenya allow Rhaenys to make amends for her slight.

So tentatively, Visenya gave her nod. When Rhaenys moved closer, she stood tall with her head raised; it was so oft her that looked down or away. But even a packless wolf could be dangerous, and so Visenya would see that proven — she was not hers for any Targaryen to do as they please.

If they claimed her, then she was a Princess, and as she'd seen, with such a title came no small amount of power.

"Father is strong. The Lannisters shan't say a word in poor taste about you, nor any of us," Rhaenys' words were whispered in encouragement as the Targaryen party sat in waiting for their guests.

Rhaegar, the King, sat at the head of the table just as Father had for long as she had memory. Elia was right by his side, the two clearly smitten with one another by the way they interacted; from him personally filling her cups, to Elia insisting that she sneak him a piece of fruit or cheese when she thought the others not looking.

The giggles they shared in those moments made her go back to the girl in the tower that she'd been. One that had many a thought of a man whisking her away to do as they were doing.

Princess as she now was, there was nothing in the world she'd not give to go back to how her life had been. Pretty dresses, exotic food and drink, the company of her new house, all of it would be a worthy sacrifice to see her life back to the mundane state it'd once been in.

She turned from staring at her wine-filled cup — and the King and Queen — to looking elsewhere in the room.

There were no shortage of sights to take in, from persons to flowers, tapestries and fabrics, and more, to the life that happened beyond the confines of this grand, but somehow stuffy room.

Yet, for some queer reason, her eyes sought out those who she now broke bread with on a daily basis; the Targaryens. Rhaenys and Aegon had taken up the seats on either side of her, with Daenerys to Rhaenys' right and Viserys to Aegon's. Together, the five formed a long line on one side of the table, whilst the other remained empty for the Lannisters.

Her siblings conversed past her, Viserys and Daenerys joining in, each on occasion; Viserys was too invested in his cups to mind any others all that much, and Daenerys did as Visenya — she dreamt.

Until one could no longer do so.

For Visenya, that moment came when Aegon tapped her hand under the table. His was larger, more muscular and veiny than she remembered when she felt it, and it was that observation that nearly lost the words which he spoke to her.

"Do you know much about our grandmother, or great uncle?" His visage was friendly, as was his voice.

Visenya knew of Rhaella Targaryen… but she'd thought her long dead. Father had only ever spoken of her twice so far as she could recall, and each time with a sadness in his voice. One that'd most oft turn to anger, then sorrow, for she would hear tell of Aerys not long after. Daenerys' words when she'd given the earrings had seemed to indicate much the same.

"I know of Queen Rhaella. She's Daenerys' mother, and the King's." Visenya's eyes flicked to the man when she made mention of him of their own accord. He truly was a handsome, kind-looking man when he wore a smile, and yet, fierce and sharp-featured as a dragon in times of anger.

The look he wore upon his face when he spoke of Lord Stark made her wince… but n—

"Daenerys and Father, and Grandmother's the most beautiful woman of her age." Rhaenys had a fondness in her voice when she spoke of the woman, and when she'd corrected her earlier in her words, there'd been no pointed or agitated quality. She was just… gentle. It made her feel remorse for her earlier annoyance with her; she was aiding her in dressing, and the dresses of the south were pretty. Beautiful.

Visenya just disliked how sheer some were, or how much skin others showed. It went at odds with how she wished to be.

"Mother will be glad to hear the 'of her age' portion of your compliment when next I see her." Daenerys quipped, speaking up from Rhaenys' side and from behind a glass of wine. Her attention then shifted to Visenya, after she made Rhaenys sweat and Aegon as well as Viserys share laughter; even the aforementioned 'Senya couldn't help but smile — it wasn't oft that Rhaenys was the person teased. "I thought Rhaegar might make mention of her, or your brother and sister. Perhaps my brother was too eager in having you back to pay any real mind to sharing news of them."

"Father had said they wished to remain at Dragonstone until the tourney was over. Nuncle Aemon's health couldn't handle so many visitors, and grandmother… She desires not the presence of any but family." Rhaenys' voice almost sounded girlish as she spoke of the two, despite her age of ten and eight. It was as if she were turned younger at nought but their mentioning.

"We should have remembered, 'tis true, Aunt," Aegon's words made Visenya turn to look his way once more, and as soon as she did so, he fixed her with a wide, toothy smile that made him look a mix of boyish and manly. Many a girl would find him fetching.

By the gods, Sansa would be beside herself if she were close as Visenya was, only to remain silent and look elsewhere by and large.

"Tell her of my mother and our Nuncle Aemon then, to make amends." Daenerys' voice was sweeter now.

"You heard our lovely little aunt, Aegon. I'll even aid you — Grandmother's kinder than even Mother. Gentle, and loving, and innocent in a way few ever are. When first she catches sight of you, there'll be little you can do to avoid the hug she'll sweep you up in," Rhaenys wrapped an arm around Visenya's chair, but didn't make to pull her closer, or initiate contact. "If any is to blame for my love of holding you, Dany or even Aegon close as could be, 'tis her."

"Blaming my mother for your love of affection?" Daenerys folded her arms and pouted, her face scrunching up in such a way that reminded Visenya of Arya whensoever she was caught doing something that she shouldn't; the dimples of Daenerys, however, were a layer of added cuteness that none could handle.

Not without getting charmed by the girl.

"More like thanking her for it," Rhaenys answered back as she finally made to pull Visenya closer with a gentle arm around her shoulders. Her skin was soft as could be against Visenya's own, and as she enveloped her, the scent of flowers and sweet-smelling wine filled her nostrils. "So many lack the joy a hug brings. Especially when shared with those you love."

Daenerys let out a little coo and pushed in close to Rhaenys, happy with her words.

Aegon, however, snorted and whispered something to Viserys. The two shared a laugh.

And then the knocks sounded upon the door, and the voice of Ser Jonothor announced the arrivals. "Lord Tywin Lannister, Your Grace, and his family as well."

Rhaegar didn't give permission for them to enter as soon as the good knight finished speaking. Instead, he made sure to seek out Visenya's attention, and when he found that he had it — hard as it was for her eyes to meet his own — he smiled. The look was soft and gentle, and the words which he spoke matched. "You'll do well, Visenya. Have nary a worry, my youngest. My warrior."

"Our little wolf-dragon," Elia had a wistful smile on her face, one that she shared with Rhaegar as the pair looked her over.

Visenya, their little 'wolf-dragon' flushed and looked down. Praise and attention, lavished as it was upon her, was one such thing she'd never grown comfortable with. The wine she'd sipped whilst she sat waiting with the other members of her new house didn't aid the matter. Nor did Rhaenys' scent and feel.

Altogether it was smothering, and now, there would be a half-dozen more present to look her over. This time, those who would be so near would care not for her, only her name and her blood.

Rhaegar's words to permit them entry weren't heard, but the scraping of the door and the steps of those that came, were.

When next Visenya's eyes rose, her violet pools took in the blonde-haired, red and gold-dressed party of House Lannister. There was Lord Tywin, tall, stern and graceful, with an aura of power that nearly made her bow her head once more — but she was a Princess and a Stark.

Her wolf blood demanded she meet his eyes and back down from no challenge a lion might give. The man seemed to smirk then, and gave a barely-perceivable nod to the woman that stood off to his right, her hands wrapped around a small boy with the very same eyes as she herself possessed.

There was one other boy that stood behind the woman, and then by his side, a man that looked much like the rest of those present; Visenya wondered if they too were of relation. Why else might they appear so similar, down to eye-colour and face structure?

Was incest so normal to the Southron people?

"Lord Tywin, a pleasure to see you and your family in good health," Rhaegar said as he rose from his seat, and looked the Lannisters over with warm eyes. "The Crown welcomes you, and thanks you for your service."

Lord Tywin gave a dutiful nod of his head. "You honour us, your grace," his voice was deep and rich as Visenya remembered it to be, and that same aura present in his walk, was in his voice.

Rhaegar's smile grew. "Please, my Lord, be seated." He himself did as he urged, and wrapped an arm around Elia once able to. "With your arrival, the food should be out in but a moment's time — before it comes, why don't you introduce your family to my youngest?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Tywin's eyes, piercing and strong, met hers. There, they remained… for a second's time before he turned and gestured to the woman seated at his side. "My daughter, Cersei Lannister, and her husband, Tyrek Lannister."

Cersei received a look then from Tywin, and continued where the older man had left off, her voice honey-sweet, and with that same inflection of power that her father possessed. "Our children, Jeyson and Legot," the older was the former, and the younger, the latter. "Might I say, Princess, what little I heard of your beauty was still too far from the truth. Any mother would be glad to have a daughter of your likeness."

Lyanna… Mother would never know.

Visenya swallowed, and managed a small smile the likes of which she'd first given to the Targaryens when they'd claimed her. All who knew of her knew she'd come from the North, a frigid, quiet persona would not be hard to fathom as a result thereof. "You have my thanks for such kind words, Lady Cersei. I can see that tell of a Lannister's beauty weren't fabricated."

Pleasantries continued to be exchanged whilst the two families waited for the food to arrive.

Once it had, and whilst the servants began to set it all upon the table betwixt the Lannisters and Targaryens, the one, centre conversation shifted from niceties to topics of importance.

Naturally, the first that came about was of the tourney that was set to begin on the day after the morrow. It had been spoken of so oft since first Visenya had been with them, that she'd begun to grow bored of hearing information about it come up.

But that changed when Lord Tywin had looked upon Aegon with a raised glass, and toasted his bravery for joining the joust when so many men of renown — and vast experience — were going to be present.

Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan, amongst others, were names that came forth in her mind when she thought of dangerous opponents one could match-up against. Visenya had seen not one joust in her life, but she'd read of many, and had stories told to her of more by way of Old Nan.

Visenya blinked away thoughts of the Kingsguard, and renewed her focus of attention on her brother. Aegon. He took Lord Tywin's words well, for Visenya had assumed them a jibe, especially with the earlier thought-of Ser Jaime at the door, near enough to hear.

"You have my thanks, Lord Tywin," Aegon seemed as regal as the King with the gracious way in which he spoke. His visage was one that she swore she'd seen Rhaegar wear too, down to the raised nose and cool air; it reminded her of when she'd seen the King meet with the bulk of his council. "I'm sure you must be eager to see Ser Jaime in the joust as well — he's won much glory in the years he's served our family. A finer son, few could ever hope to have."

Visenya thought it callous to make mention of Ser Jaime's service to the crown. He was Lord Tywin's firstborn boy, one that he had hoped would inherit if what she knew was true… instead, it was the Imp. A figure spoken of with great distaste in the North, from lowborn to the highest of lords.

"Might we mention the wonderful new Princess in the room, Father, rather than joust or melee?" Cersei's voice was as honey ridden as Rhaenys' had first been, yet it lacked the warmth or sincerity thereof. Northern as she was, Visenya knew when a person had an inner-chill. It was evident in their visage, just as it was in Cersei's; calculating, cunning… like Lord Tywin, yet sans the grandfatherly looks that made him seem a touch less vicious.

Tywin shared a look with Rhaegar, one that she took to be fond, and with the appearance about him that all menfolk had whensoever they spoke of the women in their lives. "A bit of council for you, Your Grace — daughters remain daughters from their first breath, until your last," the two shared a look that all menfolk did when they spoke of the women in their lives, then after a toast betwixt the two, Lord Tywin spoke again, and as he did his eyes joined those of his daughter to look upon her.

Most Lannisters present now gazed upon her; the two Lordlings had flickered betwixt her, Rhaenys and Daenerys the whole time they'd been seated. Lady Cersei had failed to teach them propriety, or she raised them spoiled, sans care for the comfort or lack thereof others felt in their presence.

"Allow me, Lady Cersei," Elia seized the chance to speak after the second's silence following Rhaegar and Lord Tywin's words. Her tone was kind, and accent prevalent as ever, yet there also seemed some other inflection Visenya couldn't place.

So Visenya looked to Cersei as Mother spoke to the noblewoman.

As her introduction to Visenya for the Lannisters present came, she watched as Cersei's face grew red, until the woman looked away so as to sip from her cup. There seemed a tension betwixt her and the queen, and if that the case, Visenya knew where the fault had to lie.

And that wasn't with Elia.

Food and drink had been beyond plentiful, as it was when it came time to each and every meal they'd had. One might think each and every time to eat was a feast, given the sheer quantity and quality of the food set atop the tables time and time again.

Yet, to Lannister and Targaryen alike, it seems commonplace. As if no meal need be rationed or of a type that wasn't exotic and made for flavour rather than pure consumption.

Visenya had found that to be another addition to the list of queer things she'd noted thus far. Any more sights seen would need be written on a second piece of parchment.

One point in their favour, however, and one that made her recollect the North with a wistfulness she so hated to feel, was how the families acted as they feasted together. Politics had a place that was made certain, yet there seemed a familiarity, a realness in the way all interacted.

Mayhaps it was common ground in their assurances that it was they who were the best of the — Southern — realm. If not that, then maybe the years and years the families had known one another served to keep a lighter air for all to enjoy.

And perhaps still, it was all in her mind, and the Southron people could switch their person whensoever need arose to do so.

Father, nay, any Northmen, would claim it was that out of all her thoughts.

"Uh, Pr-Princess Vi-Visenya?" A soft, stuttering and altogether boyish voice came from behind her. In her observant, food-contented and thoughtful state post-meal as she'd been, Visenya had failed to notice the younger of the two Lannister boys rise from his seat, and go around the table in her direction as Rhaegar ordered minstrels to play a sweet-sounding song.

By the Gods did she wish to turn him down and seek out her baby brother Rickon in-place of the blonde boy of a similar age. He always loved dancing with her or Sansa, or his lady mother. She suspected the motion, giggles and song did much to make him enjoy it as much as he did.

Used to.

A tap below the table, and upon the softness of her fabric-covered thigh from Rhaenys made her put forth an answer to the boy's query. "Yes?" She would keep her voice level and cool, and fix him with as much a royal look as she could muster.

It seemed to work based on the way the boy swallowed and took a half-step back, the offending foot causing a small noise as he scraped it across the rug-covered floor. When her eyes went down thereto, then back up to his own, she could see the worry on his face plain as she could with Rickon or Bran alike.

Such was the reason for her next action, thoughtless, foolish, as it was.

Visenya rose from her seat as the music picked up in pace, and from there, it was nary a step to the younger boy. Little Legot Lannister.

With the distance closed, the boy looked up at her with worry-filled blue eyes. Others looked on, Visenya could feel their eyes upon her face, awaiting the action she'd take as she stopped a step from him. "You wished to dance… or do I presume?"

Her voice was quiet enough so that only the pair of them, and those sat nearest — Rhaenys and Aegon — could hear.

Legot shook his head, his blonde hair that'd been so properly brushed now waving about in a manner that was all too cute and reminiscent of her Bran… then, after realising what he'd done, his eyes went wide. The blonde boy stammered, then he remembered his station and took a brief pause. "I h-had hoped to, Princess."

Cersei and Lord Tywin looked on as she allowed the young lord to take up her hand and lead her to the open floor. Each wore a look that seemed pleased, and thoughtful, but beyond that, Cersei seemed… thankful? It was odd, the expression the woman who'd traded minor barbs with Elia now seemed genuinely pleased.

The rest of her family watched on just as the Lannisters did, but not for long.

Viserys took Rhaenys to dance, and Aegon, Daenerys.

For a first meal, the Lannisters pushed little, and allowed her much and more in the way of comfort. Lord Tywin had seemed content to measure her, and Cersei, pleased to be amongst the first to look upon and speak with her.

Mayhaps Rhaegar had a hand in that.

As Visenya danced with Legot, and then next — despite the hesitance she so oft had about her — Aegon, she allowed the night of festivities to take her. There were no worries about House Targaryen or House Stark, Marna or Visenya, dragon or wolf.

But there was music, melodious and beautiful, the calls of owls from the nearby patch of woods, laughter from those at the table and dancing alongside her.

There was peace.

Visenya blinked open her eyes and rolled from her side to lay upon her stomach as the calls of birds grew too loud to ignore. With little tugging motions at the soft, silken sheets, she pulled herself up the bed and frowned when the pillow was caught under her elbow.

She pushed at it, annoyed at the material and the treacherous nature it dared take with her so early in the morning. Unfortunately, as she slapped at the offending item, her hair was caught under her arm and so she ended up falling face-first into the cloud-like pillow. It was a rude awakening, and one that made her throw off the sheets with an angry urgency.

Thankfully, the morning was cool, and having left her balcony open late in the evening when she'd returned, the chilly air of the morning greeted her in full force. It was that same action that'd cursed her to rise early — everything had a cost, as it went.

Visenya sighed, blew her errant strands of hair free of her face, and pushed herself up and out of bed. That chilly air was a reprieve from the heat the drink she'd consumed had caused her, and beyond that, it served to make her rise quicker as a state of alertness was brought forth; she had never fancied morning.

Risen as she was, she waited to hear a call from her door. Daenerys or Rhaenys, mayhaps even Aegon, or the King and Elia, unlikely as that'd been in the moon or so she'd been present.

So oft was that the case, she half-expected Rhaegar had given an order to the rest of House Targaryen to see her risen early by each and every member… save for Viserys, whom Rhaenys and Aegon seemed not to trust despite the latter's drinking with their uncle.

Visenya felt a chill run down her spine, one of the utmost discomfort; an odd thing given her love of the cold.

But she found it wasn't the cold that'd caused it.

Her mind, as it oft did at the thought of Aegon or Viserys, thought of the foulest of things. It conjured up Aegon, asking for her hand even despite the fact of his betrothal to Rhaenys. Old Gods or New, it made no difference, a union of brother and sister was an abomination.

Horrid.

Offensive.

Yet Rhaenys was Aegon's sister-betrothed as she'd known from when first she'd seen them. Father. Lord Stark. He had been the one to share that news with her only some few moons back, after she'd had a dream of soaring high above, beyond clouds and vision… only to then be peering down at a small mound with a singular tree thereatop, the fresh dirt covered in winter roses.

The latter sight had filled her with a lingering sadness.

Just as the dream she'd only just had this past night had. Much of it was hard to remember, yet after she'd stumbled to bed, sleep had come quickly due to the drink and the dancing. It had been most restful, save for the scant few seconds prior to her rising the first time; Rickon, alone and shaking in a bed far too large, and in a space much darker than any child deserved to be in alone.

She knew it was her mind playing tricks on her, deceiving her. Why she suffered as she did was a mystery to her — the gods were cruel to steal her from her family, but all had to face trials in life… even if some bore greater ones than others.

Rickon, however, was a child. Far too young and much too innocent to face the world as would be required of him.

She would need spend time with him day after day, lest the Southerners fill his head with poison. Their house would never be without friend in her, even taken away as she was and with the colours of red and black oft upon her, House Stark would be as her own.

Visenya had finally stopped peering at herself in the looking glass after she was dressed and done up in her finery. Always was the sight she made for strange to her, the whitish hair atop her head and the jewellery she wore all but foreign, just as the surrounding chambers and contents thereof were.

Rhaenys had spoken true when she said Visenya would like them, however, for there was nary a thing present Visenya could dislike or find fault with. Not even the little miniature bed near to her hearth, where Balerion would visit on occasion, bothered her.

Mayhaps it was the little 'dread of rats' as the tomcat was called that she found most comforting. He was a silent, warm companion that fancied cuddling just as much as her little pup did.

Yet, another thought of Rickon made her swallow, the tightness of her throat from the nerves she felt forced downwards as she stepped towards the exit to her chambers. Weakness, however strong it might well up in her, could not be shown. Nervousness, cravenness, had no hold of her.

So Marna sought out the door and with all the confidence Daenerys or Rhaenys exhibited, threw it open and strolled out. Another could see her door closed; no dirty smallclothes had been left out, nor anything else that required privacy.

"Ser Loras," That was all she gave by way of greeting to her Kingsguard — it was he who seemed to have been chosen as her personal companion and constant cohort. Just as Jaime and Rhaenys were oft together, or Daenerys and Ser Barristan.

"Princess," the man of similar age to her fell into step at her side. He had initially desired to walk at her heels, or a pace back even, but she desired a person by her side. Those of the Targaryen household guard could walk behind her rather than a knight of Ser Loras' quality.

He was one of few seldom a negative word had been spoken about, and not once had such words come from a Targaryen that meant them.

Nary a dozen steps through the dimly lit halls of Maegor's Holdfast, she paused, and turned towards the door she did so desire to enter alone. She gestured for the men who stood on either side to have it opened for her, and when the younger hesitated, she raised her nose and looked more pointedly at his person.

Her violet eyes commanded he obey, and obey he did.

"We're to be left undisturbed." Visenya's voice was cold, and she cared not for any response that the men present might offer. Strides as long as she could manage carried her forward, and one motion of her arm saw the door closed, and a second, barred.

She leaned back against it once their privacy was assured, and then she turned to look at the rooms Rickon had been 'given' use of.

Royal as they were, there seemed a lack of warmth in the way the place had been decorated. There was no order to the portraits as there was in her room, nor was there a torch lit in all areas, so that the entirety of the vastness they'd given him was alight; just as she'd dreamt, the space was dark.

And so she took quick steps towards the bed which she'd joined him upon a dozen times over. Quickly, her feet carried her across the bearskin rug and stone floor alike, with not so much as a hint of her presence given the deftness of her steps.

Nearer to the bed, she saw a blanket and fur-covered lump in the centre of the bed, a pile of pillows from the furniture around the room piled high thereround. One could be simple and still know who it was enveloped in a 'pack' of pillows.

Visenya raised a hand, slight as the rest of her, and pressed it to her neck. As before, her throat felt tight. It was as if she might choke on nothing but the air she breathed and her mouth's water.

With that feeling only worsening, she climbed atop the bed and crawled to Rickon, her hands and feet dragging along the combination of sheets and furs as she sped towards him. The moment she was within reach of his small, curled up form, she threw back the covers so that she could join him; sans a look or word, he burrowed into her, seeking out his sister's arms.

Immediately, she wrapped them round him tight as a tick and pulled back the covers over them. His miniature castle made from feather-filled pillows was pulled closer a moment later, and then she leaned back, folded, yet comfortable in a way only possible when in the presence of family.

True family.

She'd known her brother since he was a babe, pink and sobbing, and now he was a boy, young, curious, innocent.

Innocent.

Her hands sought out his back of their own accord as she buried her face into the messy hair atop his head.

"Tired, baby brother?" Her hands rubbed soothing circles, occasionally stopping to feel for bumps or lumps; none seemed present.

Rickon shook his head against her chest.

"Do you… would you wish to see the sparring yard? We could watch knights fight for us," She continued to rub his back, occasionally raising a hand to that thick, curly hair of his. Would that she could see all his tension and loneliness ridden, but she wasn't even powerful enough to keep him in the North where they belonged.

That made him raise his head from where it'd been buried. His eyes sought out hers, then he raised small, balled-up fists to those same, wondrous, beautiful… sad eyes to rub thereat; the redness of them was revealed to her as soon as those same hands lowered back to his sides. He looked as if he'd been in a constant state of tears, with nary a happy thought to keep him going.

"Please?" It took but one word from her baby brother to turn her heart to mush.

She was a Princess now. A Targaryen.

All that she could get him, she would.

"When, baby brother? Now or later… have you even broken your fast yet, or bathed?"

When Rickon giggled and burrowed deeper into her, she suspected she had her work cut out for her this day.

Yet, it made her happy, strange and horrible as it was to say.

At least, with Rickon here, she had purpose. She could busy herself in seeing to his care beyond just visits. Mayhaps she could do well to raise him — his mother she was not, but that needn't mean she couldn't act the part of a mother.

As Elia did with her.

"Here, baby brother," She presented him with a lemon cake; a favourite of his since first he'd stolen one from Sansa's plate. "You were perfect for me when it came time to bathe, and you broke your belated fast sans fuss. Mother and Father would be proud."

"Really?" Sarcastic as the word oft was, from Rickon, it had a child-like mixture of hope and happiness instilled therein.

Just as she — and most any other child she suspected — had, Rickon sought the approval of his parents.

Unfortunately, he'd have to make due with her.

"Really," She leaned down, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. In doing so, the scent of flowers and oils greeted her, as did the softness of his skin when her lips made contact therewith.

He giggled and pushed away, saying 'no' and 'ew', and so naturally, as a big sister, she had to pepper his face with as many kisses as she could manage. On and on her tickling and pecks went until Rickon's giggles were so loud and constant, tears leaked from his eyes; tears she desired be the only kind to fall from him.

Once he gathered himself, he grabbed her hand… and then gave it a tug and looked up at her. As if his meaning wasn't clear enough, he extended the hand that remained free up, towards her torso — he wanted up, just like he'd demand of Lady Catelyn or Father.

"With words, baby brother?"

"Up, please?" Rickon's free hand closed and opened thrice over, and if that wasn't cute enough, he batted his eyes at her and stuck out his bottom lip in a pout far too adorable for any to possess.

She cooed, and swept him up in her arms. Her little pup wrapped his arms around her as soon as he was high above the ground, and then he burrowed into her, tucking his face under her chin as he pressed as close to her warmth as was possible.

That desire for closeness wasn't one-sided.

As she started towards his chamber door, she wrapped him up in the nearest cloak she spotted and kept him close to her chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around his body, slight and small, and so very frail feeling; Rhaenys was right when she'd claimed him far too young to squire for Aegon.

He needed to be ten and two, or ten and three before she'd feel comfortable enough with such a thought.

Yes, when he was of an age where he could see into her eyes without looking up, then he could serve as a squire.

"Dragons?" Rickon had whispered the word as she pulled open the door.

It gave her pause. Thus, with a slow nod, assuming the boy meant as most did, she gave answer. "Mayhaps, but I'll be with you—" she leaned in lest Ser Loras or the men-at-arms who trailed after him overheard her. "—little brother."